Page 17 of Doomsdate

“Zombies, Maisie-girl. GI-27 is a zombie virus. Now, before you dismiss me as off my rocker, just listen—people are dying from this virus, left, right, and center. Massive death tolls. And then they reanimate partially. Even your regular news is saying so!”

“How can someone reanimate partially?” I hug myself hard, trying to convince my heart it can slow down, that this is another false alarm.

“They don’t come back all the way, sweetheart. Just their…bodies. If you don’t believe me, go check your local news, and hurry.”

I do as he says, though my gut’s twisting now with as much worry about Gramps as GI-27. This virus is too stressful for him, and he’s all alone in some bunker. What if he gets sick, too? I flick on the sound and collapse onto the foot of the bed to watch.

“They’re zombies, Dave,” Jessica says, but she’s not sitting anymore. She’s crouching beside the desk, inching away from Dave, who’s clearly sick and staggering toward her. “We have a duty to report the truth.”

“Jesus, they’re not zombies, Jessica! They’re simply people who ceased living and now have…stopped ceasing,” Dave finishes triumphantly, then vomits behind the desk. Jessica picks up her chair and directs it at him, holding him back.

Without looking at the camera, Jessica says, “GI-27 is a mass casualty event. There have been no reported survivors of the virus; every case has ended in death. Partial reanimation occurs within minutes to hours.”

She stops, looks straight in the camera. “Run from the dead. They are not people anymore.”

Blood roars through my temples, and I slam my laptop closed as if it might try to reanimate, too. Everything has a dreamlike quality of horror, Jessica’s words echoing in my head.

Wait.

Am I dreaming right now?

An isolated riff of laughter tears out of me as I fall back onto my pillows. Of course. This is a dream!

Something loud thunks against my bedroom wall, ominous and body-like, as if it’s trying to get me. I laugh again. This is a good old-fashioned nightmare brought on by Gramps’s Reddit binge and my oversaturated nervous system still reeling from the terrible evening. This is stress. This is exhaustion. I should’ve masturbated before bed, that’s all.

The body crashes against my wall a second time, rattling the shelves. My favorite potted plant—a lime-green pothos named Walter that refuses to die—falls and explodes on the floor. Walter’s soft soil scatters everywhere, and a bit of it lands, stinging, in my eye.

I scrub at the dirt. I…feel that.

Thunk. THUNK. THUNK.

The crashes are coming faster now, off-kilter but persistent. I fumble quickly out of bed, my foot catching on the covers, and sprawl to the ground hard on my hands. A shard of ceramic pot jabs me in the palm. I watch, horrified, as blood wells up.

I’m not asleep.

“Maisie-girl? Come in!”

I scramble back to the prep room, jumping with each thunk against the wall. They’re changing location now. Following me somehow.

“I’m here,” I rasp into the microphone. “There’s…I don’t know what’s outside. Something. In the hallway, I think.”

Gramps whistles, long and low. “Get your gun. Aim for the head.”

I don’t have the heart right now to tell Gramps I returned each and every gun he bought me. After what happened with Mom, I can’t stand the sight of them. I grab my long-handled machete from the hook on the wall instead, and on second thought, the baseball bat, too.

“All you gotta do is get to your rig, sweetheart. Clear a path, okay? Don’t feel bad about doing what you’ve gotta do to survive right now.”

I breathe in, trying to tamp down the panic fighting its way out of my chest.

This is really happening.

Is this really happening? a small, shrill voice in my brain counters immediately.

Screams ricochet in the hallway as if to answer.

I’m leaving my apartment. I’m going to Gramps’s bunker.

You’ve never left the state of North Carolina—how are you going to drive all the way to upstate Pennsylvania alone? Mom’s voice pelters my brain with rapid-fire fear.